A Carlin Home Companion (32 page)

We did the reenactment, and nothing exciting happened for me. It felt like a bad run-through at some community theater. It was fun to see certain people really get into their parts—my friend Taylor, normally the class clown, was transformed by playing Zeus. As he spoke Zeus' lines, and sat on a throne, he suddenly looked as if he truly did have the power to smite any and all who crossed him. I was impressed by how speaking as an archetype—in his case the great father god—could transform somebody. But other than that I didn't feel anything toward this mother/daughter myth. I had no idea what Maureen had been alluding to when she'd told me to wait for this day. I was thoroughly disappointed.

Then, after the reenactment, Maureen had the main characters—Demeter, Persephone, Zeus, and Hades—stay on the stage. She turned to the rest of us and asked, “Does anyone have any questions for these archetypes?”

A few asked some questions to Zeus (the father of Persephone and husband to Demeter), Hades (Zeus' brother and the one who abducts Persephone into the underworld), and Demeter (Persephone's mother). Then, suddenly, I felt a heat in my chest. I knew that I must ask Persephone (played by Lisa, our youngest classmate at age twenty-four, who genuinely looked the part of the naive waif), a question. I stood up with my heart beating firmly in my chest. “Persephone, now that you have been to the underworld, separated from your mother, how does it feel to have found a place in the world and in your life that she cannot share? Something that is all yours?”

Lisa/Persephone replied perkily, “Well I'm so happy to be back with my mother, and I feel deeply connected to her.”

I waited for more, but nothing else came. What? No sense of freedom? No great surge of empowerment? I needed more. I needed some clues on how to find my own place within my psyche that was separate and individuated from my own mother. I didn't need this warm and fuzzy shit that Lisa had given me. Knowing my long history with my mother issues, and then seeing my own struggle with Maureen this last month, I wanted more. I sat down, frustrated. A few more people asked questions of the archetypes, but I was no longer listening. I was stewing.

Maureen then asked the group, “Does anyone wish to come onstage and speak through the archetypes present here?” My hand rose before I knew what was happening, and suddenly I found myself standing and walking onto the stage. Something had taken over my body and walked me onto that stage. I noticed that no one else was getting up, and I thought,
Here you go again, Kelly, always the one who needs attention on a stage
.

Maureen instructed me to stand behind the archetype that called to me. I walked behind Persephone. Maureen walked behind Demeter. There we were—me as Persephone, the daughter, and Maureen as Demeter, the mother. My mother complex now fully activated and personified for all the world to see.

“What was your question for Persephone?” Maureen asked me. I repeated what I'd said before: “Now that you have been to the underworld, separated from your mother, and found a place in the world and in your life that she cannot share, how do you feel?” Maureen then said, “Feel free to answer it as Persephone.”

Looking directly into Maureen/Demeter/my mother's eyes, I/Persephone/Kelly said, “Now that I have been to the underworld, I have a place, a realm, that is just mine. One that I'll never be able to share with you. And while I love you, and I am happy to be back for now, this new place—the underworld—is my place, not yours. And, in the end, it is okay that I will return to it, and not be with you.”

Maureen/Demeter/my mother, with deep pain in her face, then said to me, “I hear what you are saying, but it is still a betrayal. And my heart is broken.”

I was floored. There was that word “betrayal” again. The very word my dad had used to describe what he'd felt about my show. I thought for sure that Maureen/Demeter/my mother was going to say that me being separate and having my own realm was a great thing. Wasn't it the parents' job to hide their disappointment in service of the child's evolution? I was not expecting this.

My heart beat heavily, and a surge of energy filled my limbs. I apprehended for the first time in my life that there was nothing I could do about Maureen/my mother/my father's feelings of betrayal and disappointment. I took a deep breath and said, with tears in my eyes, “Well, I guess that's just the way it has to be.”

Maureen nodded, acknowledging the truth of my statement: This is just the way it is. As we grow up and find our own space separate from our parents, they feel betrayed, and we feel empowered. And life goes on.

I nodded back at Maureen, communicating to her that our connection was now different. Moments ago we were a child and a mother, and now we were equals. And although separated, I felt more deeply connected to her than I could ever have imagined. I no longer needed her love to exist.

I turned around, walked off the stage, sat down and wondered,
What the fuck just happened?

I felt the intense sting of reality in my whole being. I was facing the fact that if I were finally to claim my place in the world, I'd have to “betray” my internal, unconscious pact with my mother (and my father, eventually). Since her death I'd been immersed in my grief about losing her, and hadn't really begun the difficult work of dismantling the baggage that had accumulated between us from her alcoholism. I finally understood that disappointing and betraying my parents was inevitable and necessary if I was ever to fully grow up. I knew I had some work to do.

I ended up doing my master's thesis on the Persephone/Demeter myth and theme after all.

Just as Maureen predicted.

 

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

Plan B

I
N
J
UNE 2004
I was ready to graduate from Pacifica.

That's a lie. I did have all my work done, but I wasn't ready to leave. For the last three years, I was the happiest I'd ever been. I got to spend my days doing what I loved most—reading, writing, and contemplating the meaning of life. All the while doing something most of the world deemed productive—getting a postgraduate degree. I was in my bliss and an upstanding citizen of the world at the same time. It was heaven.

Of course not all had gone perfectly.

During my second year at Pacifica, my classmates and I were required to do traineeships as counselors in our respective communities. Still on the fence about becoming a full-time licensed therapist, I was unsure about this part. I didn't mind the idea of dealing with crazy people. I just didn't want to be dealing with
crazy
people. I'd heard nightmare stories from some of my peers, one of whom had had to jump into the fray at a home for schizophrenics and lead group therapy sessions her first week. I didn't want to deal with schizophrenics, psychotics, or anyone not grounded in reality. I couldn't imagine that. I wanted some run-of-the-mill West LA neurotics—anxious yuppies, blocked writers, or a confused twenty-something or two. I was determined to get a cushy placement, and I got lucky. I ended up at an elementary school, counseling kids in a community that was known for its artists and freethinkers. My people.

After the first day at my new traineeship, I was relieved. I realized that I'd be able to handle the crazy of “my people.” They were no different from my parents or me. I knew what kind of kids would be coming my way: kids who came from families that had dealt or were dealing with addiction; kids who were left to their own devices because their parents were workaholics in “the business”; and kids who just hadn't found their sea legs yet. I knew between my training and the work I'd done on my own issues that I could do this. I was excited.

What I didn't see coming was the little girl I'll call Rebecca.

On my second day at the school, the principal called me into his office. “Kelly, we've just gotten a phone call. One of our fifth graders, Rebecca—well, her grandmother just called to say that her mom died in a car crash today. Seems after she dropped her off at school, the mom was rushing down the canyon to work and drove off the road and into a tree.”

My stomach dropped twelve stories.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck!

He continued, “Anyway, she's on her way here, and—well, we were wondering if you could be there when she told Rebecca the news.”

Trying to collect my thoughts, I said, “Where's her dad?”

“He's not in the picture. It's just her mom and grandma,” he answered.

My head began to get fuzzy, like a panic attack might come on. I said, “Um, yeah. Um, let me call my supervisor. She'll know what to do.”

I called my supervisor, Gwen, and told her what was going on.

“Jesus Christ,” she said.

“Right? What the fuck do I do?” I asked, hoping she'd drive up and deal with it all herself.

Gwen was actually an old friend of mine from Crossroads, and she'd been a licensed marriage and family therapist for quite a while. I was thrilled she was at my traineeship. She knew me, got me, and was very cool.

She calmly laid it all out. “Well, first of all. You don't have to do this if you don't feel ready. This is a lot for one's first week on the job.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, relieved that I had some wiggle room.

“And second,” she continued. “There's nothing you can do. All you can do is hold the space for this little girl and her grandmother. It's just one of those things about this job. Sometimes all we can do is just be present and a witness for others.”

A wave of calm came over me. I said, “Well, I know I can do that,” suddenly knowing that I must do this for this girl.

“And they'll probably need some grief counseling for her. Thank God you'll be there all year,” Gwen concluded.

“Yeah,” I said. I was already readying myself for the task. “Well, I'm going to go down there, and tell them that I'll be there. I'll call you when I'm done.”

Once the grandmother arrived, we waited in the nurse's office while someone fetched Rebecca. The grandmother was very nervous, and I assured her that there was no right or wrong way to do this. She'd be fine.

When Rebecca walked into the room, my heart shattered. She was a stringbean of a thing. Big brown eyes and a presence that said, Save me. She looked at the three of us with confusion. She asked, “What are you doing here? Where's Mommy?”

“Hey, Sweetie,” her grandma said as she stood up and hugged her. “We need to talk.”

Rebecca looked at me, wondering who I was.

“So Rebecca,” the grandmother continued as she sat them down on the cot. “I have to tell you something. Today after your mom dropped you off here—well, she got in a car accident—” She hesitated.

“Is she okay?” Rebecca asked as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Well … she … uh. Well, she … no, Darling. She isn't okay,” said the grandmother.

My heart ached as I sat there watching all this as if it were a movie. I said to myself, Oh my god! This is the part where she tells her that her mother is dead. This is really happening.

The grandmother plowed ahead. “Rebecca, your mom is not coming back. She died in the accident.”

Rebecca began to cry for real now, and fell right into her grandma's bosom. They both cried. I looked over them at the principal. We both had tears in our eyes.

“What happened?” Rebecca asked after a few minutes.

“We don't know everything yet,” the grandma answered.

Rebecca, wide-eyed, looked at me again. The principal said, “This is Kelly. She's the new counselor here.”

I smiled a subtle smile, wanting to communicate that I respected what she was going through but also that I was here for her. “I'm so sorry about your mom, Rebecca,” I said.

Tears rolled down her now pink and swollen face.

The principal continued, “Kelly will be here all year. You can talk to her if and whenever you want.”

“Whenever and whatever you want, Rebecca,” I added, wishing I could offer this poor lost child something more than that, but that was all I had.

After about ten more minutes of crying and a few questions, Grandma took Rebecca by the hand, and they both walked out the door and into her life without a mother. Even though I'd lost my mom only a few years earlier, I could not imagine what it must be like to be ten years old with no father, and now no mother. My heart ached for her.

I would indeed see Rebecca every week that year, and a few months into the next year, even after I'd moved on to my next internship. Getting to sit with Rebecca on that day was one of the most profound and privileged experiences of my life. I did nothing. I was just a human heart witnessing the breaking of another human heart. But sometimes that's all we have. I hoped it was enough.

I think of her often.

*   *   *

Fortunately most of my days at my traineeship were not so eventful. I helped a handful of families deal with crises, quite a few students cope with some ongoing behavioral issues, and referred a few other families to other therapists for family therapy. Luckily my job was rather easy. Because my clients were kids, all they really needed was a safe place to play or talk or draw. I had one client who did nothing but play hangman with me all year long. But by the end of the term, his angry outbursts and defiant attitude had dissolved. Go figure.

But in other ways my job was not so easy because my clients were kids. Like Rebecca, some of these kids were facing challenges beyond their power to change. They were in families that had deep systemic problems that a bit of play therapy would not resolve. Those kids had parents who were in denial about their own issues, and it deeply affected the whole family. I could do little for them. It was those kids who weighed on me. I saw myself in them, and hoped the little attention and space I gave them would help carry them through. Others that faced even tougher challenges were harder to have hope for. Seeing the suffering of such innocence was a burden I hadn't expected to carry, and one that kept me awake more than a few nights. After a year I was glad to move on.